Pearl
by planet p
Summary: AU; for Alfie und Micky's Extreme Challenge. Not quite a ship, not quite a HEA, but I resisted from *most* of the crack, so, um… Yes, that's my excuse! I did so try. So, so! ;) In which Baby Parker is… Well, you'll see.


Emily glanced around the house worriedly, warming her hands around a steaming mug of herbal tea she'd been handed a few moments ago. It was black as night outside, and cold enough to mist her breath, but inside it was warm and cosy, almost comfortable, but for present company. She'd heard from her brother that he'd been here before, a long, long time ago; that Catherine had died here. Remembering this, she felt a shiver run through her, but Lyle, Catherine's son, didn't seem phased. To Emily, that was more than creepy enough without the added fact that the last time she'd met Lyle it was when he'd tried to kill her. She wasn't here of her own volition, not really. Her mom, Margaret, had asked her to take her place in this meeting. It was only she and her mom who knew about this; Emily knew that her father and brothers would never approve. Lyle was the enemy, and would never be anything else, unless, of course, he got dead first. Then he'd just be dead.

Setting down her mug on the nearest surface at hand, Emily fixed Lyle with a cold glare. Offering her a frown at her chilly gaze, Lyle picked up her cup and took a sip, then set it back down again. Emily rolled her eyes. She wished she didn't have to be here, in the same room as him, let alone the same state, but she'd promised her mom.

"Clearly, you, my wee lass, are not Margaret," he said.

She scowled, muttering under her breath. "How original!"

"Where is your mother, moonbeam? The deal was, I was to speak with your mother. I like her better."

Emily laughed darkly. "I'm here, she's not. Either you want to talk, or you don't. Because I can just as easily," she turned toward the door, "walk back out of here and forget this ever happened."

"You could, but then you'd never know for sure, and I have a feeling that just wouldn't sit right with your mother. Not after losing Kyle. Family is important. I understand that."

"I'm sure."

"Oh yes, and the answer is yes. The child is your brother's. Family. I _could_ help you. If you're interested?"

Emily made a face. She'd come here, hadn't she? What did he honestly think she was going to say, she wasn't interested, she didn't need his help? If the child truly was Jarod's, then he or she belonged with her, with family. "You're sure the child is Jarod's?"

He looked away, to her mug of tea, then back to her face. "Kyle's. She's Kyle's daughter."

"What?" Emily felt hot all of a sudden, and she had the overwhelming urge to punch someone, preferably Lyle. She didn't dare. She shook her head. "Look, it doesn't matter. She's family. Yes, yes. I want your help. What do you want in return? Did Mom…"

He shook his head silently. "Think of it as my repaying my debt."

Emily rounded on him abruptly, grabbing hold of her tea and throwing it on him. She glared at him icily, almost shaking with rage. How he imagined anything he could do, ever!, would ever make it okay that he'd murdered her brother, was insane. But then again, he was insane. Totally insane.

"You will never have my forgiveness! Not ever! Not for Kyle!" She made a point of saying his name, even if it brought tears to her eyes.

Lyle shrugged. "I'm not terribly interested in your forgiveness, Emily. Or any sort of forgiveness. Just repaying a debt. I have to look out for my spiritual wellbeing, you understand that. My sister, I hear, has a rather interesting ability that affords her an avenue of communication I do not have, but which I would very much like to. Helping out your family seems like a good place to start, being that that had also been my mother's plan."

Emily laughed hysterically for a moment. "Are you really that stupid?" she spat. "Have you thought at all about all those young women you've murdered?"

"They won't bother me."

Emily laughed. "I would!"

He tilted his head to the side. "Which is exactly why you're not my type, doll. They'll have forgotten me already, gotten on with their deaths as they should. They were good girls, for the most part, and good girls go to Heaven. They don't stick around to watch the credits play out. Mommy, on the other hand, was not a good girl. Good girls don't play around behind their husband's back, do they now? Oh, she was a bad girl, all right! Why do you think she's stuck around? Better here than Hell." He started to smile, before Emily smacked the grin right off his face.

"I want my niece. I don't have to put up with your crazy shit in the process, frankly, so if you're not going to start talking about how you're gonna help me and stop talking insane person, I'm walking out of here."

He gave her a decidedly cold look. "You're not very nice, you know that? And you're no fun! What a spoiled brat!" He shrugged. "Fine. You're one of those girls. Strictly business. Boring much?" He sighed. "Fine. We'll leave in the morning."

"Leave for where?" Emily scowled, still glaring in disgust.

"You want to find your niece, I don't have any fancy extrasensory skills. We're gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way."

"What are you talking about?!"

"Road trip, babe! Gotta love a road trip." He laughed, patting her arm. He took her hand and walked out of the room, leading her after him. She pulled her hand out of his grasp and glared at him when he shrugged, unbothered.

He stopped when they came to a room and grabbed the door knob and pushed the door open for her. "For you, my dear. Your very own room."

"Whatever. You really don't know where she is, do you?"

"We'll find her, I assure you."

"Because you're so good at finding people," she snapped, stepping into the room and looking around. The quilt on the bed looked handmade. The cuteness of it didn't impress her, it made her feel slightly queasy. She had no idea who'd made it and if they were dead now.

"Mmm, but I'll have you with. I think, together, we can figure something out. There are more blankets in the cupboard, if you're still cold," he said, gesturing to a cupboard nearby. "Good night, Emily. I was disappointed before, when you showed up instead of your mom, but I'm good now. You have your own certain charm, I find. You're honest. I appreciate that." With that, he walked out, leaving the door ajar as he went.

Emily sat down on the bed with a heavy sigh and looked at her hands in her lap, and told herself she wasn't going to cry. Not even a little bit. Not even in her sleep.

.

Emily woke in the morning to a soft, sterile light filtering in through the glass, falling to earth through the trees, and an odd, almost supernatural calm. She didn't spend a long time in bed, trying to will herself to rise, she got up and got herself ready for the day, just got it done. It was just this side of chilly, but she managed, as she always had. What other choice did she have?

Margaret had gone to find Charles and Jarod and his clone, Mo, were on the road someplace Emily didn't know where. It was just her, her and the creepy murderer. It didn't make her happy, but it was how it was. She was resigned to that fact, apparently.

She walked to the kitchen but paused when she passed the living room, noting that Lyle had chosen to sleep on the sofa instead of in the other bedroom. Maybe he hadn't trusted her not to invite company, such as Jarod or her dad, Charles. She refrained from a snicker and went to make herself a cup of coffee, if this place even had coffee.

Bringing her coffee back to the living room, some time later, Emily set a mug down on the coffee table for Lyle and sat down beside the drink, taking a cursory sip of her hot drink and waiting. When she got bored of waiting, she sighed and leaned over to pat Lyle's face. He opened his eyes before she even touched him, and she leaned back sharply. Yeah, she just knew he'd done that on purpose! She didn't laugh, or even smile. If he'd been meaning to unsettle her, then he'd done that.

He looked at the coffee she'd set beside her on the coffee table and glanced back at her. "You're not going to throw that on me, are you?"

"What do you think?"

He sat up and took the drink meant for him from the coffee table. "You slept well?"

"No," Emily replied simply.

"Pity."

"It looks like _you_ had no trouble sleeping."

"Sure. I slept fine."

The niceties done with, Emily glared at him. "I want to know her name."

"The… Mmm. Your niece." He nodded, as if answering his own question. "It's Pearl. They named her Pearl. Cute. Very cute."

Emily shook her head, took a sip of her coffee. It wasn't her _real_ name, just as Gemini wasn't Jarod's clone's real name, it was just the name someone who didn't care for him had assigned him, someone who saw him as an object of value rather than a person with real feelings and a real life. One day, Emily thought, Pearl would be able to choose her own name. Hopefully.

"Where are we headed first?" she asked.

"I am headed to breakfast, that's where I'm headed. You, I don't know. Maybe you've gotta do something with your hair, or your face? Your nails?"

"Hypocrite much, pretty boy?"

He laughed. "I kinda had that coming, didn't I?"

"No, of course not, doll!"

He stood up, took his coffee with him. "Tah for this, moonbeam."

"If by that you mean 'thank you', I don't care. I don't want you to like me, and your words means absolutely nothing to me. I want you to know, if it comes down to it and I have to make a choice, I will _always_ choose to stab you in the back before I risk a single hair on my own or anyone else's head."

He started to hum the theme tune for _Happy Days_ and left the room, smiling to himself a little.

When he was safely out of earshot, she glanced down at her coffee and suppressed a sigh, sounding out her niece's name in her mind. Then, quietly, she said the girl's name out loud. "Pearl."

* * *

Lyle stared in the direction of the window blankly, thinking things over. What they knew, what they still needed to find out, and if it was even possible. Apparently some people wanted very badly to bury this little girl, to make her coming back a surprise to all. They'd already convinced the rest of the company that she was dead, that she'd died in a tragic fire with a handful of other promising, up-and-coming Centre kids. But he didn't believe that. And, for what it was worth, neither did Sue. So, it wasn't just him, being his usual paranoid, there-is-always-something-more-to-the-story self. If Sue said it was sus, then he was inclined to believe her, even if she was only saying it as a supportive friend. The child was Miss Parker's, his sister's (as the company would have it), though they'd never come right out and said it, so he wasn't going to let it go that easily. Whether Parker was his sister or not, they were family now, and that was all that mattered. He could play all the funny, little games he liked, but he knew that when they were gone, they were gone, and then you were alone. Parker and he didn't have a whole lot of family nowadays, and he knew, he _knew_, Pearl wasn't gone like they said she was. In his overly paranoid mind, he fancied that he could feel it. He could feel that Pearl was still alive.

"Mmm, she's cute. Sorta dainty. You think she likes you, just a little bit?"

"Nope. She hates me. In every dainty little bone in her body. Give it up, Sue, it's never gonna happen. Not in a million years."

"Still, you two would be cute together."

"Have you seen the murderous glance on that girl? Yeah, 'cause that's some other level of cute, I gotta say." He looked back to his coffee, took a sip.

"And when we do find her, what then? You'll just hand her over to Dainty and be done with it?"

"Yeah, no, I don't know. If… if Parker's still stuck with the Centre then it wouldn't be safe for her there, and… I might have told Emily that she was Kyle's daughter."

"Okay. Why?"

"If Emily knew she was Jarod's daughter you can bet she'd tell Jarod. She'd find some way. And then he'd drop everything and come running, and the Centre would find out, as they invariably do, and then they'd devise some trap that he'd walk right into, probably even knowing full well it was a trap, because… I'm sorry, but did I mention this was Jarod we're talking about!, so…" He laughed. "No. No way. In Hell."

Sue nodded. "To reiterate: Okay. Why?"

"She's my niece too, and… so…" He tilted his head. "Because."

"Because?"

"What? I can be a prissy bitch too, you know?"

"You're a man."

"It's called being a Pretender, Sue."

"You're not a Pretender."

"But I could've been," he replied evasively.

"No way in Hell, baby boy. Not… ever."

He shrugged, feigning indifference. "Emily and I are… We're not her parents, and children need their parents. So if Jarod ran off to save her and ran straight into some crazy, insane trap and got himself killed, she'd be short one parent, and that would be too bad. You see, you can live without an aunt or an uncle that you never knew, but living without your parents is harder." He laughed shakily. "I should know. This coffee's _really_ bad!"

"It's normal coffee."

"Yeah, that's what I mean. And you know me, don't do coffee."

"Then why are you drinking it, dummy?"

"A cute girl made it for me. I'm tired. Little weird sheep-like apparitions are running about all over the place, bugging me. A cute girl made it for me."

"Sheep?" Sue asked, in disbelief.

"Okay, so I'm pretty sure they're not really sheep. But they're weird and they're spotty and they're annoying, so what's the difference? I'm tired." He took a sip of coffee and shuddered. He stood up. "Right, I said I was going to do something about breakfast."

Sue leapt off the table, grinning. "Jarod likes Pop-Tarts. I bet Emily does too."

"Sure, why not. She already thinks I'm a child. And, um…" He clicked his fingers.

"They have loads of vitamins and stuff, and they taste extra yummy! I think."

"Thank you, Sue. You're a star."

She bounced up and down on the spot, smiling brightly. "Yay!" Then, shaking off her moment of totally awesome, cheerleader-esque airheaded-ness, she frowned at Lyle who seemed to have fallen asleep leaning against the cupboard. "Um, Lyle?"

"The sheep are calling my name?" He laughed sleepily. "Sorta spooky… Hey, what?" He opened his eyes and stepped away from the cupboard quickly. "How… how do I know you weren't feeling me up?!"

"Embarrassing!" Sue muttered, through clenched teeth.

He frowned, still staring at the cupboard. "What? Oh yeah. Thanks." He opened the cupboard and suppressed a sigh. "Sue, my awesome, fantastic, super good best friend: you're a girl, which flavour do you think Emily will like best?"

"Why don't you just ask?"

"Come on, Sue, you know that's not my style. Control freaks never ask. They just choose for you, and still expect you to smile and say 'thank you, very much,' even if you really hated it. And boys who are trying to impress a girl don't ask, they just take a random guess or something, and," he crossed his fingers on his left hand, wincing, "hope it works out."

"So you are trying to impress her?" Sue asked, with a grin.

"No. I'm a psycho control freak. Obviously."

Sue laughed, plastering a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound unnecessarily.

Lyle rolled his eyes and took one of the packets out. "I choose this one. The packet is more colourful. It looks happier."

"That was so deep!" Sue enthused.

"Hey, Sue?"

"Yeah, pal?"

"This place has a toaster, right?"

.

Emily walked into the kitchen, expecting to see Lyle all ready to go, with something to offer her to eat so it could be her fault they got held up, but he was just sleeping at the table. She stalked over and shook his arm, giving him a reproving look.

"Hello again," he greeted sleepily. "Say, don't I know you, pretty darlin'?"

She refused to make comment on his idiocy. "Are we leaving some time today, or what?"

He got up and wandered over to one of the cupboards. "Do you want Pop-Tarts? They're a bit healthy."

Emily planted her hands on her hips, very unimpressed. "Are you drunk?"

"What?"

"Intoxicated, yeah? Are you?"

He stared at her, trying to figure out just what she was saying, though it sounded strangely like another language, and not one he spoke. After a moment, he shook his head. "No. You… Unless… you count lookin' at you…" He smiled. "You're very… very pretty."

She sighed heavily.

"I'm not drunk. I was thinking about… what we were planning… Simming some stuff, you know… which was kind of a bit heavy… So now I'm disinterested… dis…" He frowned. "You know that word."

"Disoriented," she laughed, and nodded. "But I think you mean the other 'd' word."

"No, I'm just dis… or… or… That. My… mm… It's very… nice here, and cold, and she… she died… so that's sort of… you know, I mean… I was just… thinking about how you're not… going to do that, d… die. You're not going to die."

Emily was only half listening, looking for the alcohol, but all she found was a bottle of disinfectant. She hoped he hadn't been idiot enough to drink any of it. "Fine," she turned back around to face him, "we'll have Pop-Tarts. And then can we get out of here? I'm really getting sick of your pity-me routine!" When she saw he meant to get the Pop-Tarts for her, she marched over and opened the cupboard door herself, grabbing a box out and stalking over to the toaster. She really hoped it worked, too, because no matter what Lyle said, he was drunk and eating something would be better than not eating something.

Lyle stood by the cupboards, watching Emily glare at the toaster as it heated up the Pop-Tarts, feeling crappy for being so stupid and un-Lyle. Just because Sue was gone and he was sad about that, and he'd had a stupid dream and they'd talked, even though she was gone, didn't mean he got to be stupid and inflict that crap on Emily. As far as she was concerned, he was supposed to be someone else, and now she thought he was drunk and she wouldn't be happy about him driving and she'd be worrying about dying and then he'd be worrying, too, because he was too tired to help it, and his friend was gone. Really gone.

He stared at his hands, shaking, and looked back at Emily. She was still glaring death at the toaster. _It's the coffee. It's just the coffee._ He was never having coffee again, he promised himself. Even if a pretty girl made it for him.

Problem was, the damage was already done. And no matter what he said or did, he couldn't take it back. He'd slipped up, and he never did that. Never.

He didn't know how he was going to fix it, or if he even could.

.

Emily was staring out the window, watching the roadside rush by in an incomprehensible blur, only half listening to whatever song was playing on the radio, and Lyle was thinking about Pearl, thinking about how alone she must feel, knowing that everyone that might have cared about her thought she was dead and gone, or even if she didn't know about any of that, just feeling alone anyway, because she was a little girl, a child, and she had no family. When they found her, and Emily was there, her aunt, she would feel better, less alone. Emily was nice, not like him, and he thought that it was a good thing that Emily had come instead of Margaret because even if Emily was sad or unhappy or angry, if she didn't show it somehow, Pearl would never know. She'd still feel safe and perfectly loved. That was Emily's gift.

He'd spent a good deal of the night figuring out a way to break through her defences, to Read her, only to come up more or less blank. He couldn't Read her that way, he could only take clues from what she showed outwardly and what she intentionally projected. He had no way of knowing if she understood her ability, but he figured Margaret did. He just hoped Emily did too, because it could prove very, very helpful if she did.

It would have been nice if he could have asked Emily to stop projecting her anger at him, but then he'd give away that he knew about her ability, and it wasn't as though she was really projecting it, he was just too tired not to pick up on it. From anyone else's perspective, she was just a normal person; that was the wonderful thing about it. Another Perceptive might not even suspect she was a Mediator, and he wasn't even really sure that she was, she may have just been well schooled in Blocking, but seeing as she'd very strategically allowed him to sense some things and had kept the others from him, even in her sleep, he figured it was a distinct possibility. That and the fact that he knew some things about her she obviously didn't want other people to know. But, really, all he really needed to know was that she was good, and she wouldn't be giving her family away anytime soon. She wouldn't be giving Pearl, or their plan to rescue her, away.

And as far as Emily's feelings went, he figured she really was pissed at him. She probably thought he'd been trying to play her, based on her comment of earlier when she'd accused him of playing the pity card with her, because, from everything she knew about him, he didn't have real, human feelings, he was a monster, and if he played at having feelings or being less than totally set, it was no more than a game, than a tactic. He was lucky, really, that she hated him so much. And if she had any suspicions, all he'd have to do would be to play it up a bit more and she'd be left in no doubt that he was only messing around with her. He could say, oh, well, he was bored and he'd been interested to see if he could work his charms on her, in case he meant to leave the company for good once they found Pearl because, heck, it would be pretty cool having a kid, someone to… nurture, yeah, that was the word, and love, and maybe they could run away together and Pearl wouldn't have to do without parents, they could be her parents. And maybe, if he played it like that, she'd think he was just being his usual sick, sadistic self, thinking he could get away with depriving Jarod of more of his family as he'd obviously been deprived of in the past, sad-y face and all that normal human stuff.

He might've been getting ahead of himself, but from where he was standing there had to be at least a slim chance of Emily buying it. She was a nice, normal person, and he was a creep and a maniac, and if he put the moves on her she'd be so freaked out and blinded by his unwanted attention that she wouldn't think anything more of it. Well, at least that was his hope. So far, not even his own sister had clued onto him, so he didn't need Emily doing so. He needed this to work out, plain and simple. That was just how it had to be.

.

Emily wasn't really watching the scenery, she was trying not to notice how that idiot Lyle kept looking at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention. She wasn't clueless, she knew she was attractive, and even if he said she wasn't his type, they were the only two people about, and she figured he'd be feeling desperate about now, thinking how brave and self-sacrificing he was being, helping her to find Pearl, and how dangerous it all was, and why weren't the girls just falling at his feet because that was so what he deserved, being that he was so brave and self-sacrificing. Predictable. He was just so predictable. It made her want to gag, but she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. He was an idiot and he wasn't worth her wasting the effort on. It was bad enough that she was seething mad at him right now. She should have just let it go; she knew the type of person he was, that her disapproval meant nothing to him and that he'd never change, but she was too stubborn and headstrong. He was wrong, and so, as a good, moral person, she was obligated to let him know that, even if it gave her an excruciatingly splitting headache.

When he decided to get his act together, even just a little, then she'd let up. Then she'd stop giving herself a headache over it. But until then, she was just going to have to take the pain. It didn't seem fair to her, but it was what it was. Her pain, however silly, made her human, made her everything that he wasn't; a good person.

She just wished he'd stop staring at her legs, because every time that he did she just really badly wanted to turn around and punch him, and that wouldn't do very good for his driving ability, frankly, or for his temper. She just had to control herself somehow.

Forcing herself to keep looking out the window, to keep in mind where they were going and where they'd been, she tried to listen to the music instead of the fierce pounding in her head.

.

She hadn't even noticed she'd fallen asleep, or that they'd pulled into a roadside diner and gas station, until he shook her awake and she blinked open her eyes, noting the strange surroundings and feeling relieved that though she had no idea where they were, her headache seemed to have eased.

And then, when she remembered who she was with, it came right back again, even worse than before.

Sitting in a booth in the diner, she waited for the painkillers she'd swallowed in the ladies' restroom to take effect, and for her coffee to arrive with her lunch. Lyle was going on about some lead he had and she was trying to listen but she knew how much of an idiot he was and she couldn't help wondering who had helped him out with it all and if they were just now dead or alive. It was very distracting and whenever he said something halfway intelligent she just wanted to crack up laughing even though it would be stupid and petty and it would make her head hurt all the more.

She focussed on the feel of her heartbeat for a couple of moments, and her breathing, forcing herself to calm down and listen to what he was saying as if she was interested because they had, after all, agreed to work together. Her mother, when she'd assigned her this task, had trusted her to do it right, and to do it well. She was doing this for her family, and her personal feelings had no place in it.

After a while, the painkillers and her determination to calm down kicked in and she felt much better. She actually managed to look Lyle in the eyes like a normal person and she felt proud and very bold. He had tried to kill her, but none of that mattered. She was doing this for her family, for the people she loved. She wasn't going to mess it up. She could be as professional as she wanted to be.

She was feeling pretty good until it started to annoy her how he was looking at her as though she was just this person, this normal person, which she was – but _he_ wasn't, but he was obviously pretending to be! She didn't know why it annoyed her so much, it was his favourite game, after all, playing at being sooo normal, but he was playing his stupid game with her, and as strong as she was, and as much as she loved her family, to the ends of the earth and back, she couldn't help feeling that little bit angry.

_Relax, Emily. Don't mess it up_, she told herself fiercely. _Remember why you're here, why you're working with this maniac. You're doing it to help Pearl, to help your niece._

But, argh!, he was just looking at her and he was _so_ normal, and he wasn't even looking at her _appreciatively_ and she didn't know why not. She didn't know why the hell not, and it freaked her out, for some crazy reason. He'd been giving her enough looks in the car, but now that there were other people about, other _women_, she wasn't all that interesting anymore! Or did he just plan to kill her off at a later stage, once he'd gotten his hands on Pearl and everything in his crazy, little world was fine again?

She couldn't stand that thought! She couldn't stand the thought that he was quietly trying to tell her something and probably feeling very amused that she didn't get it, that she was so stupid!

She was on the verge of breaking and snapping at him that she saw right through him when he looked away and she saw that her coffee had arrived, along with her lunch. The waitress took a moment to apologise for the time it had taken with her coffee – some kind of problem with the machine – and Lyle was looking at her instead of Emily, seemingly interested in whatever she was going on about, giving Emily a much needed opportunity to disengage, sit back in her seat, and cross her arms disapprovingly. It wasn't hard at all, and she did it all with practised ease. The same way she let the waitress know it wasn't cool to make eyes at someone else's guy, with an easy, "Honey, could you pass me the sugar?"

The cute waitress left and Emily ignored the sugar dispenser Lyle passed her way, silently unhappy that they would be stuck together in the car for any amount of time whatsoever once again. She would have preferred some stupid, quite possibly life-threateningly dangerous mission where she could actually do something whilst Lyle only pretended to protect her from all the risky stuff and she actually did everything herself, or even more possibly whilst Lyle got his ass kicked by some ninja chick and she still did everything else.

Her cell phone rang loudly then and she set her coffee down to answer it. It was Margaret, wanting to know how things were going. Emily said fine and said she'd put her on the phone with her "boss" and handed the phone to Lyle which he idiotically managed to drop on the table before picking it up again and speaking to Margaret, Emily glaring at him the whole time for being such a baby when she'd accidentally touched his hand. Like she'd secretly been holding out to do so all day! She wanted to laugh. She maintained her annoyed glare, irritated and embarrassed that she really hadn't been paying much attention when Lyle had outlined the plan with her and hoping he'd reiterate some of it for her mom so she could listen in too.

Sadly, he didn't, and Margaret was the one doing the most of the talking anyhow. Emily didn't know what her mom could possibly have to say to a maniac like Lyle, but apparently she had enough.

When he ended the call and set her phone back down on the table, Emily looked up from her plate and the piece of chicken she'd absently stabbed with a fork. "What did she say?"

"That you shouldn't neglect to eat your vegetables."

She laughed and grabbed her cup, finishing off the last of her coffee. Yep, they were going to make such a great team, because they had communication and honesty on their side. And Lyle was still a jerk.

Her head picked that moment to stab in pain and she supposed she'd been wrong to think it was a simple headache bothering her, foolishly hopeful. Her appetite fled. It had been years since she'd last had a migraine and, truth be told, she'd thought the migraines were gone for good. She'd been having these headaches for a couple of months now and they'd been getting worse, but she hadn't wanted to remember, to think about the alternative. Now, she felt herself tremble. She didn't want them back, she didn't want that sort of pain back! She just wanted to do what needed to be done, to reunite with her family at the end of the day, to hopefully smile a little. Didn't look like that would be happening now.

She didn't let her upset show. Redirecting her attention to her plate, she resigned to finishing her lunch. No, she wouldn't call her mom and tell her the bad news, she wouldn't let herself cry because it was going to hurt and that was all there was to it, because she should have been a Pretender, like her brothers, but she wasn't, because she'd always dreamed of one day having a family of her own, a family she could love the way she wanted to love without fear that someone would come to rip her family apart in the dead of the night, but her dream had never come true and slowly, with time, it had faded away and died. All of the good things in her life were slowly falling apart, but the bad things were still holding strong.

She'd always prided herself on being a hopeful person but even now, she felt her hope slipping. The pain would take everything from her in the end. She couldn't fight it, she'd never been able to do so. The fact was, she liked to imagine herself strong, but she wasn't, not like Jarod and Mo were, not like Kyle had been.

She picked at her meal absently and pretended not to notice when Lyle left, probably to hit on the cute waitress. She grabbed her phone and put it away, even as her vision blurred with tears and she resisted the urge to call her mom just to hear her voice, or her dad, whose number she didn't even know. When Lyle came back with a bottle of water and a book, she couldn't even bring herself to offer a glare. She didn't care if he saw her tears, it hurt to blink them away, more and more by the second, so she didn't try.

Lyle offered her the water and she took the bottle with a shaky hand and was alarmed and confused when the pain in her head seemed to flutter and fade away. She lost her grip on the bottle and at the same moment Lyle backed away from the table sharply. He did a good job of making it look as though he'd only gone after the bottle that was now rolling away from the table, but Emily had seen the pain on his face, and she wasn't blind to the way he was breathing a little too hard when he set the bottle back on the tabletop. Even with his smile and an amused, "Clumsy," she wasn't forgetting that.

Curiously, she let it slide, let him think she'd missed the point and rolled her eyes despite the pain when he patted the book. "Got you some light reading material, if you ever feel like turning your skills to something other than glaring, which, I must say, is pretty impressive. Even Parker sometimes offers a smile, just to mix things up, maybe catch me off guard. I underestimated you, Russell. You're pretty hardcore."

"I'm not glaring now, am I?" she replied, though she wasn't sure why.

He regarded her more closely for a moment and feigned an expression of pleasant surprise. He laughed, offering a smile. "No, no. I see that now. Nicely played."

Emily felt offence wash over her, aggravating her migraine further. She didn't know why she was offended for Lyle to think her physical lack of disgust for him was all part of a game she was playing, but she was offended. Or maybe she did know why. She wasn't the same as him, she was a real person, genuine. It wasn't as simple as willing herself to switch her feelings on or off, and there, it was done. He was relegating her to his level, and that was what offended her most. He thought they were enough alike that they could be compared, when in fact she would never compare herself to him, or him to her. He was a monster and she was nothing like him. And though he was strictly speaking human, he couldn't begin to understand what it meant to be truly human, to care about anyone or anything other than himself.

She wasn't sure why she did it, but she said, "I have a headache. I'm taking a break, nothing more."

"Hmm."

.

Lyle was glad when they finally pulled into a motel for the night, glad that he'd be able to put some small distance between Emily and he. He hadn't sensed it before, when they'd first met, but now he knew why Margaret had sent Emily in her place. Because of what had happened to Emily when she'd been small, back before even she could remember, because she had been taken, but she wasn't a Pretender and nothing could be done to change that fact. Not that it meant they hadn't tried. That was why she and Margaret had been living in hiding for so long, that was why she was having these migraines. Subconsciously, she knew something bad had happened, something really bad, but all those memories were buried, hidden away, and this, now, the thought alone of Pearl and what she must be going through, it was bad for her, bad for these memories she'd long ago locked away.

He had his own memories he'd rather not reminisce over so he couldn't help but be wary. There was always more to it than that, but she was suddenly a frightening girl. He didn't know how Bobby would react to Emily, to what was happening to her, he only knew he didn't want to find out.

A part of him wanted to help, to help lessen the pain, but another part of him wanted to stay as far away as he could. He didn't know which part would prove stronger in the end, but he hated it. He hated that she made him question himself this way. He'd always known what he was, more or less, but then she came along and suddenly he was scared and he could barely face her. She was a good person and she was in pain. She really did want to help Pearl, and that was all good. But he didn't know if he could help her, and he should have been able to do that. He was not a fighter, not really. He was not the one to make the decisions, he was the one to provide support, intel, a different way to look at the situation, another angle, whatever was needed, be the salve for a unnecessary pain, or to offer a necessary pain when to go without would mean offering the darkness a foothold in one's soul. He was consolation, but consolation could be found in many, many places, and in one's own heart. He was useful, but not indispensable. And the darkness would always be waiting at the door, waiting for him. To extinguish his light. It didn't need him as a tool, he wasn't strong enough probably, it just needed him gone, needed for the blood to flow unchecked, and the heart to cry, cry, cry until the crying dried up and it grew barren and devoid of life, of hope and freedom of choice.

He was already a failure. He had been none of these things for his sister. But he suspected he could be a greater danger, suspected he might be stronger than even he thought possible, and then he would turn on his sister, bitter and vengeful, and destroy them both. And this girl, this girl, what if she was the trigger?

He sat on the bed and listened to the sound of the water as Emily took a shower and got cleaned up. He thought about the ocean in his hometown of Blue Cove, and the dam in Bobby's the people of Misery imagined a lake. He never had learned to swim. He wasn't afraid of the water, but it just seemed like something that would happen when it happened, something that nature would take care of as it did the oxygen that people breathed and the sunlight that warmed the Earth. Even so, the water was calming, and whilst he listened to it, he could forget about these other things, these troubling things, and just hear the water, just listen to the water, and remember.

They left the car at the motel and went for a walk before dinner. He could tell Emily didn't feel up to it. The cold made her shiver and she didn't much feel like looking around, like taking in the night-time sights. He felt the same way, as though he wasn't up to it, so he pushed himself to get it together, to be stronger. He couldn't help Emily with her pain, but he could help her hold onto her strength.

They stopped for a light at a street corner and Emily pressed the button to cross the road. When the walk sign came on, he reached for Emily's hand unthinkingly and pain burned bright in his being, but he didn't release her hand, afraid that she would stand confirmed in her suspicions of him, because she must have been suspicious. Instead, he allowed himself to feel her pain, allowed her to have a moment of reprieve, and it was okay if he couldn't do more because even those few small moments were better than nothing.

The pain wasn't so bad now, but it was hanging on. If he felt it more strongly than she did, it was merely his nature. When she looked at him in alarm that he'd taken her hand, he gave a smile. "You looked cold, and a little lost."

"Leave me alone, Lyle," she snapped, but she didn't pull her hand from his. It was dark and she was cold and she might have felt something like uncertain in this unfamiliar place. Though she might have felt the same uncertainty when it came to him, it appeared she had taken the measure of him and now, now nothing he did could be said to be a surprise, because he might do anything, anything at all, just as soon as he felt inclined to the notion. If she allowed herself to be surprised, she would be affording him much too much humanity and much more than he surely possessed. Heaven forbid he might really take her hand because she looked cold and a little lost!

He wasn't, couldn't be, hurt that she thought so lowly of him, he was only hurt that he'd considered, for a fraction of a second, that she might take her hand back and offer him an easy out, an easy reprieve. That hurt him, because he knew he was better than that.

He might have put an arm around her shoulders and drew her closer, she was, after all, cold, but he knew he'd only be doing it to punish himself, not to help her out, so he forced himself to refrain. She was not a toy, she was a person. And as for keeping up appearances, as for what she must think of this new game he was playing, he allowed himself the time it took to reach the restaurant before letting go of her hand to get the door and gesture for her to proceed him. That was merely being polite, and if he would take her hand once more inside, well, that would be much too much of a public display of affection than he was accustomed to. Shameless he might have been, but he was also well trained.

He kept telling himself she couldn't suspect, she couldn't know his secret, but it worried him. It worried him that this was a struggle for him. Why was it so hard to resist her? She was not Miss Parker, she was not his family, and she was certainly no child. Why was he so insistent on demoralising himself for not helping her, for allowing her to feel what was her own pain? It was her decision if she wanted to feel it or not, but he hadn't even thought of that. He'd immediately involved himself, without so much as a second thought, when she could very well have known, could have realised, by his actions, his weakness, and what he was. She was not just another person, he had to be careful around her, but whenever he reminded himself to be cautious, he felt like he was letting her down, cheating her, as though he was doing something wrong, and that wasn't right. Maybe it was precisely because she was Emily, because she was different, the same as he was, but he didn't think so. He'd resisted interfering in Jarod's pain, or Kyle's. He'd always been able to maintain the usual distance between himself and another person as was respectful, both toward that other person and himself. But not in this case, not in Emily's case.

He could easily have been tempted to blame her, to take it out on her, like the jerk everybody believed him to be, but aside from the fact that this would risk showing her that something was wrong and he wasn't happy about it, it would also make him feel like a jerk, and that wasn't tempting. Perhaps it was harder to Read her emotions, the emotions she didn't feel like revealing to him, anyhow, but that didn't give him an excuse. He didn't need someone else to tell him, in words or through their actions and emotions, that he was overstepping the mark to know that that was exactly what he was doing. He'd developed some skill in the art of deduction over the years.

They were given a seat at a table and a waiter arrived to take their order, drinks first. Lyle waved the man away, deciding that he'd walk to the bar and get their drinks himself, and asked Emily what she was having. She gave him a dirty look but she told him she'd have a glass of water, lots of ice.

At the bar, waiting for the barman to fix their drinks, he closed his eyes and counted to ten. For every number he counted off, he allowed himself to feel the moment, to set aside any thoughts he might have as to what would come or what had happened or what might, at this very moment, be happening elsewhere. When he reached ten, he counted again. The barman, returning with their drinks, raised his voice and Lyle stopped counting and opened his eyes. All the way back to the table, he kept telling himself he could do this, he could help Emily find Pearl and then that would be all, they'd be done. He would be free of this strange involvement with this strange girl.

He didn't realise he'd begun to hum _Spooky_ until Emily shot him a particularly dirty look and he fell silent. He didn't even have a smile, or a wink. He was really off his game and he could hardly seem to care. He set her glass down on the table, watching to be sure she wasn't about to touch him, and sat down. He didn't look at her. He was thinking about other things, another time.

He was startled out of his thoughts when Emily kicked him under the table. "Cut it out, Lyle. It's not even funny!"

Belatedly, he realised he'd done it again. He'd been humming _What Good Is I Love You?_

Her expression was more than annoyed, it was angry. She didn't know that he wanted to get up right now and leave. All of these songs he was using to try and distract himself were songs that Bobby liked, had used to like. He felt strange, not sure, on shaky ground.

Emily looked away, taking her glare with her, and picked up her glass. She took a small sip and replaced the glass on the table, but she didn't look at him again. He hoped it wasn't because he was just now glaring at her back but he really couldn't be sure. He felt sick, too weak. He needed Parker's strength, but she was so far away.

He stood up abruptly, forgetting his own glass of water, and walked to the bar. Against his better judgement, he ordered himself a vodka and drank it too quickly, coughing a moment as tears prickled his eyes. He called Parker and hoped she wouldn't pick up, despite that he desperately wanted to hear her voice. Even if she insulted him, it didn't matter; even if she accused him of something nasty and malicious, even if…

She didn't pick up. Obviously, she'd checked caller ID before answering. He tried ringing again and she rejected his call. He started to cry and the thought of how pathetic he was being only added to his feeling of hopelessness. He didn't know what else to do so he tried calling her again.

Finally, she picked up, pissed. "What? Can't you lay off for one night, Lyle? I'm embarrassed to be related to you. Oh, wait – my bad – I meant _disgusted_!" She laughed for a moment, rubbing it in just how disgusting it was to her that they were related, that he was her brother, and, shudder, her twin, her supposed other half. She didn't stop laughing until she realised he should have been saying something back, he usually did. He hadn't even asked if she'd missed him – and wasn't _that_ the real reason she was being so harsh?

He wanted to say something, didn't want her to worry, or whatever she might be feeling, but she'd know he was upset if he spoke, so he didn't. He hung up.

She texted back: _ASSHOLE_.

He laughed, tears splashing onto his cheeks, and put his phone away, feeling slightly better already. He brushed away his tears and ordered another vodka. The barman refrained from asking questions, or just generally being friendly.

.

Emily thanked the waiter kindly when he brought out their meals. She even had a go at eating her salad. She didn't get very far. She didn't feel hungry knowing that Lyle had gone off somewhere and was probably getting spectacularly drunk. Whatever his issue was with her, he didn't have be such a loser about it. Finally, when she was on the verge of grinding her teeth and she could barely stand to look at her food, she stood up.

She was going to find Lyle and drag him back to the table if need be. If it wasn't one thing, it was always another with him, and he was continuously ruining things for her. She was about ready to believe he did it on purpose, but that would just be paranoid. She wasn't Jarod and she wasn't Miss Parker. Compared to the two of them, she must seem so inconsequential to him, just as all those women he'd murdered did. But perhaps he was just in a bad mood, and she was here, so why not take it out on her? _That_ would not surprise her.

After walking around for longer than she would have liked, and making a right fool of herself in doing so, worrying that he'd alighted to murder some poor unfortunate young woman, she found him sitting with a group of teenage girls, the oldest probably no older than fifteen. The teens were wearing flimsy paper crowns and listening to Avril Lavigne on one of the girls' smart phones. A science textbook sat on the table, the girls apparently having been working on their homework, but they were looking at Lyle right then. Emily crossed her arms and listened to him explaining something sciencey the girls had most probably struggled with in class. Finally, when she decided she'd given the group, and Lyle, ample time to notice her, she spoke up. "Lyle?"

The girls looked around at her, Lyle looked around at her; Emily shook her head, unhappy.

"Yes. Right. Good luck with the test tomorrow. And do have a good evening."

Emily grabbed hold of his arm as he was standing up and dragged him away from the table. The girls laughed and waved.

When they were far enough away that the girls wouldn't hear them, Emily glowered at Lyle, and growled, "What do you think you're playing at?"

"I don't see how it's any of your business, frankly," he replied coldly, and walked back to the table silently, Emily following after him, scowling all the while.

She didn't order dessert.

.

On the walk back to the motel, Lyle hummed every Avril Lavigne song he could remember and Emily did her best to ignore him, feeling very much like throttling him. Then, later, as she was trying to sleep, she listened to him throwing up and snorted. Yeah, well, she hoped it hurt. He deserved for it to hurt. They were supposed to be finding Pearl, not playing idiot games with the underage locals.

.

"Jenna and her younger brother, Harry, were living in the same group home as Pearl. From everything I've been able to dig up, Pearl and three other children were Centre assets, but the rest were… just kids. Anyhow, Jenna remembers seeing a man and a woman she'd assumed were investigators. After the fire. A couple of days before Harry's and the other children's funerals. She didn't see them at the funeral. I showed her some photographs on my cell phone and she recognised one of the women as the woman from that day. I wasn't playing at anything, Emily, I was working."

Emily filled the electric kettle at the sink with a scowl. "And I suppose you chose that particular restaurant purposefully, knowing Jenna would be there?" She didn't believe it, no matter what he said.

"That's right. Jenna's new family own the restaurant. They don't mind Jenna's friends hanging out with her there, as long as they buy something and they don't make an intolerable ruckus."

They had been sitting in a booth at the very back of the restaurant, Emily remembered. But so what? That didn't mean Lyle had known anything, and even if he had, it wasn't as though she cared. Or that he'd known Jenna would know anything, remember anything. For all she knew, Lyle was spinning her a tall tale. Even so, she wanted to hear about this woman Jenna had recognised, that was the only thing that mattered right now.

She set the kettle on its pad and clicked the switch to heat the water. With a glare, she turned to Lyle. "So who is this woman?"

"Her name is Clara."

"Is that all you know about her?"

"No. I should be able to… find out more."

"You should be able to?" Emily laughed at her stupidity, for thinking Lyle would prove of any use to her or Pearl.

"I will. I'll find out where she's worked, what programs she worked on, where she is now. I'm sorry… for abandoning you last night. It was inconsiderate. I should have said something, beforehand. I shouldn't have made you worry like that."

"Don't bother," Emily replied. "I told you I don't care what you say. I wasn't worried about you."

"I know."

She scowled, crossing her arms and turning away, towards the window. She pulled open the curtains. It was cloudy outside, grey and depressing. She stared out the window until the kettle came to the boil and clicked off, then she made herself an instant coffee and stood at the sink to drink it, downing it with a couple painkillers. She didn't bother making Lyle a drink.

He left to pack their things away in the car. He didn't come back in.

.

They stopped at an internet café for lunch and Lyle left to use one of the computers, seemingly able to navigate the technology to some extent despite his many protests to fiercely dislike, or in the least distrusting, it. Emily ate a sandwich, ignoring Lyle until he returned and told her he'd found out where Clara was currently posted. She was no longer working for the Centre; she was dead. Emily lost her appetite after that. She took her soda with her. She wasn't happy that they'd hit a dead end.

In the car, Lyle told her that he'd learnt of a location they could conceivably learn more about Clara's mystery partner. Jenna had given a physical description of him, as best she could, and now that he knew where to find the information they needed he could, presumedly, work it out from there. Looking through some of Clara's more accessible work history, much of which was highly encrypted, where it was documented, he'd found out where the information was being stored. It might be hard to get into, and dangerous, but it sounded possible. What he really wanted to know was if she was in or not.

Emily didn't see the point in declining. "Fine," she said. She didn't say anything else; she had a killer migraine and even thinking hurt.

.

Later that day, lying on the floor with a profusely bleeding bullet wound, Emily cursed herself for bothering to help Lyle. He was close to finding the man who'd been Clara's partner that day, at least that was what he'd texted her last (he knew how to use a cell phone, huh?), saying he was just about done, maybe the encryption was proving tricky, but that was before someone had come strolling by, a guard or something and taken an interest in the room Lyle was working in, and Emily had decided to distract him. She didn't think he'd actually shoot her. As far as they could tell, the place was just a storage space for data, and not heavily frequented. The guard was crazy and trigger happy. Emily didn't seriously think he knew what he was keeping watch over, the kind of evil he was protecting, but she wasn't ready to forgive the guy just yet. She wasn't happy about the fact that he'd shot her, or that he'd seemingly evaporated into thin air right afterward, and she was even less happy that she was probably going to breathe her last breaths in this ugly, evil place, never having known her niece, or whether she truly was alive.

She was thinking about where the guard could have gone – to off Lyle next, or to inform his co-workers of the break-in – when Lyle appeared with an unhappy look. "He went somewhere," Emily said, managing, with a lot of effort and very painfully, to sit up. "I don't think the phones are working." There was a phone on the wall, she remembered abruptly, a phone the guard had angrily slammed down before running off someplace.

"It doesn't matter," Lyle told her. "I found what we need. We can go." Acting as if there was nothing wrong with her, he hauled her to her feet and started off down the hallway, dragging her with him.

Emily didn't bother to bitch about the pain. It didn't hurt. She felt weird, faint, sort of light-headed, but strangely it didn't hurt. It had, but now it didn't.

They were at the car before she thought to ask Clara's partner's name and she saw just how much blood she'd lost and thought how freaky it was that it didn't hurt. "What's his name?"

"Ryan."

She snorted breathlessly – oh, cute – and started to cough. A sharp jab of pain burst through her and she stopped laughing, stopped breathing. The pain was there and gone in the blink of an eye, and then it started to get dark, dark, so dark. She didn't have to think about how that had happened so quickly, or how very cold it was, because soon she didn't have to think about anything.

.

She woke in an unfamiliar hospital room, thinking about how much she hated this guy, Ryan, and how stupid she was for getting herself shot, just to find out about some creep called Ryan. And then, slowly, she remembered why, remembered who Ryan could help them to find, and she didn't feel as utterly stupid.

For a long while, she kept expecting Jarod to show up saying he had a lead on this Ryan guy's whereabouts, and somehow she kept trying to figure out why she found it strange that Jarod might show up here, in this hospital she couldn't remember coming to, couldn't remember ever having seen before, and why she was angry at Jarod, her big brother, who loved her very much, when it occurred to her she hadn't come here, wherever here was, with her brother. She'd come here, to this town, with that maniac, Lyle.

She hoped he was getting her a coffee at the vending machine.

She looked for a button to press, still feeling weird, to call for a nurse, and that was when she saw Lyle, slacking off. She sat up, propping herself up against the back of the bed, and threw her pillow at him. Why was the bloody sleeping? And why wasn't he getting her a coffee? Or looking for this Ryan creep?

When he woke up and saw that she was awake, and apparently still angry that he existed at all, Lyle got up from the chair and sat down on the bed next to her. "Ryan's dead, too."

Emily punched him in the arm. "Is not, you idiot!"

"I'm sorry."

She glared at him extra hard.

"I… I'm not giving up. We're not giving up, Emily. Something will come up. We'll think of something." He frowned, removed his hand from beside hers on the mattress. "How are you feeling?"

"Angry."

He looked away, to the door.

"You didn't get me anything."

He returned his gaze to her. "No. What would you like?"

"Jarod. Coffee. Ryan alive!"

"A coffee. I can do that."

"You're not even going to apologise?" she groused.

"I didn't kill Ryan, Emily."

She punched him in the arm, glaring at him. "For getting me shot, you moron!"

"I got you shot?"

She didn't drop the glare.

Finally, he said, "I'm sorry, Emily… for involving you needlessly in a dangerous situation. I might have just as easily gone alone; you could've waited in the car."

She pushed him away from her. "You can't even apologise like a normal person. You're a freak."

"I didn't shoot you."

"It's your fault. You should have typed faster."

He nodded. "I'm sorry, then, that I didn't type faster, and I am totally prepared to make it up to you, even if I have to freakishly embarrass myself by singing your favourite song."

"Don't you even dare!"

"Come on, now, don't make me guess. Just tell me, and it won't hurt as much, I promise."

Emily laughed. "No way in Hell, freak!"

He shrugged, and started to sing _How Can I Be Sure?_

Emily plastered her hands over her ears and screamed but he only smiled and went on singing totally shamelessly. "I'll never tell!"

When the nurse came in to send him out so the patient could rest, and handed Emily back her pillow, Lyle grinned and started singing _Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?_. Emily turfed the pillow at Lyle, much to the nurse's chagrin. "You murdered my ears, you bastard!" she screamed. "I'm gonna have nightmares! How can I sleep now, you maniac?! I hate you! I hate you!"

"I'll get you a coffee when you wake up."

"I hate you!"

He gave the nurse back the pillow and waved to Emily. The nurse shut the door in his face. She handed Emily the pillow and she lay back, closing her eyes. "I'm gonna have nightmares. Bastard."

"You're lucky to be alive," the nurse told her. "Try to calm down and get some sleep."

Emily opened her eyes to meet the nurse's eyes. "I don't know him. Don't let him in again. I've never seen him before."

"He brought you to the hospital, Miss. He said you were his kid sister."

"Do I look like a kid? Or his flipping kid sister?"

The nurse didn't bite.

"He's a compulsive liar," Emily snapped. "And I'm not kidding. I don't know him. I might have seen him once or twice before, but he's still a freak. Am I allowed coffee?"

"Yes, Miss."

Emily closed her eyes. She was tired, and she hoped Lyle kept his word and got her a coffee when she woke up. She knew she could have asked the staff for one, but it wouldn't be the same. She'd only gotten shot because of him and now he was going to work to pay her back.

"Sir? Sir?"

Lyle sat up sleepily, having fallen asleep in the chair beside Emily's hospital bed. The nurse told him that it would be a while before Emily regained consciousness. The gunshot had been tough on her, and it had been a while in surgery. She needed time. If he meant to stick around, there was a cafeteria on the second floor and a vending machine a short way away. A coffee might make things more bearable.

"No, I'm fine," he told the nurse. The woman checked the machine and left the room, leaving them alone. He sighed and glanced back at Emily. A while wasn't that long, was it? Wasn't bad?

Emily's cell phone rang and he stood up, placing Emily's hand back on the bed, to retrieve her phone from the cupboard where her belongings were being kept, in a blue, plastic bag.

"This is Lyle," he answered, sitting back in the chair beside Emily's bed. It was Margaret. She wanted to speak with her daughter; it'd been a week, she'd been patient enough. "She's sleeping," he told Margaret. "She was very tired. I don't want to wake her."

Margaret said she'd call back and hung up.

Lyle set Emily's phone on the bedside stand and slipped his hand around hers again. She would wake soon, and then they would be able to leave. Very soon.

He'd dreamed about her. If he just waited, if he hung around a little while longer, he knew she'd wake up. He hadn't been able to contact her through her own dreams, but she'd turned up in his dreams and that was good enough for him.

He didn't like hospitals.

.

Emily woke to the sound of her phone ringing. It sounded far away, and sort of weird, but she knew she had to snap out of whatever funk she'd landed herself in and get her phone. It could've been important. She blinked open heavy eyes and winced, pulling at her hand until it came free of whatever had been holding it and sat up, gritting her teeth against the throb of pain. She grabbed her phone and knocked it to the floor. It stopped ringing.

She suddenly noticed Lyle, and shook him. "I need my phone," she told him, as he woke up. "Someone was ringing me."

He got up to get it for her and checked the call log for missed calls. "Unknown. It was probably your mother. She rung before and I said you were sleeping."

Emily glared at him, and held out her hand for her phone. It wasn't 'til then that she noticed the tube trailing away from her arm to an IV stand, connected to a drip. She shuddered violently, remembering how much she disliked hospitals. "Give me the phone."

"Would you like something to drink?"

"I want my phone!" she snapped.

He handed over her cell phone slowly and she flipped through several menus until she'd found the call he'd told her about, the one from the unknown number, like the majority of her calls.

"I want to leave," she said, looking up from her phone.

"You were shot. You lost a lot of blood. You're still recovering. It's going to take time. You understand, Emily? You have to stay-"

"I need to go! We have to find Pearl!"

He sighed. "Ryan won't be of any help, Emily. He's dead. I'm sorry. Even if we could somehow get in contact with a Perceptive, he was cremated. He didn't have any family. His ties to this world are… hm. And anything that he owned was disposed of by the company. Most unhelpfully. Clara's family had her cremated, donated her things to charity. They're somewhere in Africa, way out of our reach."

"I'm not giving up! I don't care if you're done repaying your debt to Kyle, he's dead. She's not. She's my family. I'll find her on my own! I don't need your help."

Lyle shook his head. He didn't want to say it, but if she was going to be like that, then he might as well save her the trouble of disappointing herself. "I know where Pearl is, Emily. Clara was an organ donor. It helped. She took Pearl to the Tower. The fire was an accident the Centre did not plan for, but afterwards Pearl was not okay. She was different. The trauma messed with her abilities. She's with the Tower now. We can't get her back. I can't, you can't, Jarod can't. Nobody can. We've lost her. You don't go up against the Tower and win."

Emily shook her head, shivering. "I can't. I can't give up on her. She's my family. She's a child. She's just a child. I can't!" She dropped her face into her hands, crying quietly, shaking all over.

She hadn't asked how long she'd been out. She'd seen her phone, she'd seen the date on the call she'd missed from her mom; she knew it had been a week. A week she'd been asleep, a week she'd still help hope she'd find Pearl, hope she'd save her niece, and now that hope was gone. Dead.

Lyle frowned, stood up. He'd only come back so she wouldn't be alone when she woke up. He didn't know how to contact Jarod and he knew Margaret called Emily, Emily didn't call her. Margaret could have called anytime, but he didn't think so, and Pearl had still needed them, before he'd known she was with the Tower. Now that he knew, well, what could he do?

The Tower didn't let people escape.

He walked out, remembering what Emily had asked for in her dream. He couldn't bring Pearl or Jarod to her, and Ryan would be of no use, even if he'd still been alive, not now, but he could get her a coffee.

If he was lucky, she'd throw it on him and he'd have an easy excuse to storm out in a huff and never look back.

He'd spent a week looking for Pearl, a week wondering how Emily was doing and if she'd woken up to find he'd abandoned her yet again, a week missing her. He'd known he shouldn't have come back, but he'd still done it. He understood now, but she didn't know anything. It wasn't her fault. He'd just wanted to say goodbye, even if he never actually said the words. He'd wanted her to know Pearl was alive, though he might have left a note to that effect. It wouldn't have been right if he hadn't told her in person, if he hadn't told her to her face. So now he'd told her.

Returning from the vending machine, he noticed that Emily had stopped crying. She'd dried her eyes, maybe on her sheet, and she was staring at nothing, her phone sitting in her lap. She was waiting for her mom to call, probably.

"I got you a coffee," he said.

"I don't want it. Take it away from me. Leave me alone. I don't want to look at you, or hear your stupid voice. I hate you."

He left the coffee on the bedside stand. "I figured you'd say that," he said quietly. After all, she'd told him so, in his dream. He turned around and left. Didn't look back.

* * *

Back home in Blue Cove, he smoothed a hand over the picture of Sue and Cindy, from a newspaper from years and years ago. He had no other pictures of Sue, none that he'd be able to recognise his friend from, anyway. He'd never known her when she'd been alive, and all of those pictures in her file weren't of Sue, they were only of her body, bloody and cut up.

He shouldn't have taken the newspaper page from that library, but when he'd thought about photocopying Sue's picture it hadn't seemed right. He'd taken the whole page instead. He still didn't know why Sue had died, why Cindy or any of those young women had died. Maybe he'd never know. But he had a picture of his friend, his best friend, and he would be able to wish her well now.

Wherever she'd gone, he hoped she heard him.

He placed the page in the sink and took a match out of the box on the sideboard, lit the match and touched it to the paper.

"Goodbye and good luck," he whispered in Sue's old language, and then Sue was gone, swallowed by the fire. Free.

They were both free now.

.

The little girl looked around when she sensed she wasn't alone in the room. He'd been there for a while, in truth, but he'd wanted to just look at her for a moment or two before he revealed his presence to her, before he told her what he needed her to do.

Soon, even the Tower would know why he'd come here. They had empaths of their own, good empaths, and he couldn't fool them for long. Soon, Pearl would have to run, and she would have to know where to run.

Touching her face, he searched for a way in, a connection, pushing through the pain he wouldn't let Pearl feel, the damage she wouldn't manifest, through the darkness and horror and the deep, deep loss, hopelessness that didn't yet have such a name, and there it was. There she was, his Pearl. His beautiful niece.

In his mind, he whispered, "Hello, Pearl." To the little girl, he said, "Run." Then he took his hand from her face and she ran.

The negative feedback stung, as a lot of things had, over the years, and then it hurt a bit more, and a bit more. Then it hurt a whole lot. He followed Pearl's progress in his mind, redirecting the other empaths' efforts to track her.

At long last, Pearl felt the sun on her face once more. It was freezing cold outside, the ground covered in brilliant white snow.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered, and Pearl stepped outside and the snow didn't swallow her up. Underneath the snow was solid ground. She raced across the snow, all of her training put to good use and some things he'd shared with her too. He didn't need them anymore, wouldn't need them ever again.

Pearl came to a strange black car and froze, uncertain. A stranger stood beside the car, seemingly waiting for someone, maybe for her.

_Not a stranger_, Lyle thought. _Your father._

She got his message. Not a stranger, her dad. She'd never known her dad but now here he was, and he'd come for her, he'd been waiting for her.

She went to him, a smile blossoming on her face.

Lyle smiled. And that was Pearl, shining. "Goodbye, Pearl. And good luck."

"Good luck," Pearl whispered back silently.

She was free.

That was all that mattered.


End file.
